


Migraine.

by Katastrophi, Meeps



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, RP to Fic, Sex, Slow Burn, Suicide, THE BOXES - Freeform, Wade and Peter are both stressed, mental trauma, mentions of child abuse, they are both assholes p much, they both just need to hug it out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katastrophi/pseuds/Katastrophi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meeps/pseuds/Meeps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a difficult few weeks, Spider-Man unleashes his anger and frustration onto Deadpool. Wade had honestly been trying to do the right thing. God, does Peter regret it. Now he has to do damage control and sort out his own thoughts on top of it. Who knew Deadpool had feelings to hurt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! We've been working on this for a while now. It IS an RP, so if there is an inconsistency in the dialogue, please let us know. 
> 
> The story title is based off of Migraine by Twenty One Pilots. Go listen to that song, please. It's so, so Deadpool. It might make you tear up. <3

Everyone had that One Thing™ that could ruin what might have otherwise been a perfectly good day. Peter just happened to be juggling somewhere around eighteen of them this week. The biggest one he could think of was that his camera -- the tool he used to make a _living_  -- had started to take spotty pictures. He only found this out after having caught a few once-in-a-lifetime photographs and then checking them on his computer afterward. There must have been dirt underneath the lens, which was relatively simple, albeit annoying, fix -- but it had rendered his entire day's work completely useless. He took apart the lens and cleaned all of the pieces out as best he could, before putting his camera back together.

...And the spots were still there. Great.

After taking it apart a second time and being even more thorough with cleaning it, he finally gave up and took it to a camera repair store. It hurt paying half of the cost of the camera itself to get it fixed, but he had little choice in the matter.

When it was returned to him the next day, the specks of dust were _still there_. So not only was he out all of his grocery money that month, the problem hadn't even gotten fixed.

So of course as he was lying down to close his eyes after a long night -- _several_ long nights, if he were honest -- police sirens blared from a few streets over, and there were lots of them by the sound of it. He felt like a petulant child getting up for school as he sat up in bed and sighed, before he went to his closet and slipped into autopilot to put on his costume. He wanted this to be just a fire or something easy so he could come back and finally sleep. It was selfish, and he knew this; it only made him more irritable.

It was this hungry, sleep-deprived, and pissed off Spider-Man that arrived at the scene, just minutes before the police. He saw all-too-familiar metal "arms" and immediately knew who it was causing the trouble. Of course this wasn't going to be a quick, easy mission.  Of _course_. Unfortunately, 'Spider-Man' was already there, fighting Doc Ock off.

Oh, wasn't that just the cherry on his cake? Wherever Deadpool went, a trail of death and rising property damage followed close behind him. Spider-Man hadn't even known the guy was back in New York, but the headlines in the morning were going to be reaming his already bad reputation.

He couldn't leave Deadpool alone, though. The Merc with the Mouth seemed to be on the right side at this very second, but the man was too unstable and morally ambiguous to just let him be. A part of Spider-Man wondered if Deadpool was the one who instigated this in the first place.  It was usually best to just always assume the worst with him.

Spider-Man landed on the side of a mostly in-tact office building and crouched.  He tried to focus enough to gauge just where the deranged ex-doctor was about to move to, and then he webbed the man's back and yanked hard to pull him off balance (which worked especially well after losing one of his metal arms to a katana). "Deadpool!" he shouted. "Look, I appreciate you holding him off for me, but this guy's mine!"

It was then that he could make out how the mercenary's costume was torn up more than wrapping paper on Christmas morning, and there was quite a lot of blood. Spider-Man, as awful as it was, hoped that all of it came from Deadpool himself.

Said blood trickled down the side of Deadpool's face, the exposed head wound healing before the crimson trail even reached his chin. Had he really just gotten smacked in the face by a metal tentacle? Jesus Christ, hentai was getting weird these days.

The notoriously creepy tentacle enthusiast himself, Doc Ock, had decided to terrorize the midtown area, tossing around cars and smashing them into buildings. It was shockingly needless violence. While hunting down a particular truck that sold delicious Korean fusion cuisine, the infamous Merc with a Mouth had quite literally stumbled upon the mayhem.

When he saw the (annoying) villain pick up a mini van with two very small children in the back, the mercenary's blood boiled over. Children were innocent; there was absolutely no reason for them to be brought into this kind of ultra violence! They weren't even old enough for milk plus!

Wade had managed to save the family of four from the mini van, earning a concussion in the process. Stumbling back, Wade sliced through one of the metal limbs. He swung his katana with shocking accuracy, even when he was seeing double.

Thankful to Deadpool's healing factor, only about half of Spider-Man's words sounded like they were being shouted through a wind tunnel. He looked over to the masked arachnid and shook his head, "Sorry there, sweetums! This nasty motherfucker decided to up an' make 'imself my problem today! He crushed the food truck if been scopin' out a--"

One of the trucks the octopus man had thrown blew up right behind them, creating a wave of heat and the distinct smell of burnt hair to assault the senses. Deadpool whipped around in horror; fuck! Why had he not thought to check if anyone needed help in there?! Had someone been screaming and he just ignored it?!

**Y (Don't beat yourself up too much man; s'not like you're a real hero or nothin'.)**

**W (We shouldn't have even been in this part of town. It's way too clean for garbage like us.)**

Spider-Man didn't trust Deadpool not to go and murder the Doc or worse, make casualties of the civilians. The mercenary didn't really seem to make a habit of everyone walking away from the fight with all of their limbs and organs intact. Spider-Man was about to tell the other off when his spider sense went absolutely haywire. He jumped off of the building in the direction that felt the most right as soon as he could. The explosion flung torso-sized shrapnel right into the spot he'd just been, and thankfully he'd kept his hold on Doc Ock and pulled the mad scientist out of the way along with him. Mid-leap, he had webbed a rooftop billboard and yanked it off of its metal frame, and slammed it down in front of a group of crouching onlookers. He almost hadn't managed to get the makeshift shield down in time to keep those people from becoming cooked enough to please even Gordon Ramsay.

Unfortunately, he didn't have enough hands or time to protect everyone. That was plain enough to see from the charred remains of what had once been the truck's driver. His heart stuttered and he felt his body turn cold. The world slowed down around him, and the pit of his stomach clenched like an angry fist.

After several seconds that felt like they stretched on for an hour or more, Spider-Man whipped around, shot enough webbing to keep Doc Ock stuck to the asphalt (even if it could do nothing but stall him for a minute longer), checked the area for more bodies, and immediately sought out Deadpool.

The Merc had been there well before the arachnid superhero had gotten to the scene -- he hadn't checked to see if anyone was trapped or injured in that truck, he hadn't used his body as a shield, he hadn't put anyone's life above his own desire to fight.  

"That was someone's child!" he screamed, gesturing wildly at the fire.  

"That was probably someone's parent!" His voice was nearing hysterics. "Do you want to explain that to his kid? Why their dad isn't coming home?!"

He needed this to get through to Deadpool, to show him that this wasn't a game. Someone had _died_ just now. They were never going to come back.

"I-I... I didn't..." Deadpool's voice was almost uncharacteristically quiet, not exactly trying to stop Spider-Man from shouting abuse at him.

He swallowed, and looked at the truck and then back at the Webbed Wonder. Words completely escaped him as the boxes decided to thoroughly add to his humiliation.

Spider-Man had been too angry to take Deadpool's response and body language to heart. (It was funny in the most macabre sense that the term 'seeing red' fit so well right now.) The top priority was _always_ the innocent bystanders. New York wasn't just some giant arena for cage matches, despite how a lot of the zoo-themed villains seemed to act.

"That person meant _everything_ to someone," he added, and his voice cracked ever so slightly around those words.

Doc Ock took the opportunity to strike while Spider-Man was preoccupied, stabbing his knife-like tentacles forward once he had freed himself from the webbing. Spider-Man had just opened his mouth to drill his point further in, but before he could, he realized his Spidey Sense was raking its way across the inside of his skull.  He hadn't been able to catch when it first started because of the blood rushing in his ears, and his desperate need to take out his feelings on the man that was ultimately responsible for them. Deadpool gasped and pushed the red-and-blue-clad man out of the way, before Spider-Man could pinpoint where the danger was coming from, taking the majority of the damage. He couldn't be a hero, that was clearly fucking obvious now... but at least he could _save_ one. The twisting metal punctured his stomach and shoulder, making him spit up blood through the fabric of the mask. He turned back to Spider-Man, holding tight to the metal rods that skewered him. "F-Fuckin' save these people wh-while I got a hold on him!"

When Spider-Man was shoved out of the way, his leg had erupted in white-hot pain. When he landed, he skid a few feet further, and he could feel the ground skinning him through and with his suit. He forced himself to sit up, and he saw that something had clipped his upper calf. Legs always bled so much, so he couldn't have begun to guess how deep the wound was under the gushing blood.

More of it was raining down to the pavement in front of him, though, and his head jerked up to see Deadpool skewered on the Doc's robotic arms. He sucked in a horrified breath. Then his brain actually kicked in, and he remembered that Deadpool could heal, and _would_ heal. He could deal with the Merc later, but right now there were other people to worry about. He bolted to his feet and started to run (complete with a limp), and he shot webbing up onto the nearest tall building he could reach and pulled himself forward and up into the air. He landed behind the wrecked and partially on-fire billboard, careful not to touch the metal.  

"Hey, guys, sorry to evict you, but we gotta go," he said, and waved at them to hurry and leave. Any who couldn't run on their own, he carried.  

By now, the police had gotten there, and were making a barricade that was hopefully one that would keep civilians safe. Some of the cops aimed their guns at Doc Ock and Deadpool, but Spider-Man tried to convince them not to shoot. (They weren't exactly keen on listening to the masked rogue -- big surprise there.)

Somewhere behind him, Spider-Man heard Doc Ock shout in frustration as he attempted to wrangle his tentacles free, and possibly rip the mercenary to pieces in the process. "You're a real _pest_ ," he could hear the ex-doctor say.

He jumped back into the fight after half a second of thought, and when he was close enough, he shot Doc Ock in the face with his web fluid. The man started trying to tear it off of himself, and Spider-Man kicked his feet out from under him. "Better call a pest control, then, 'cause it looks like you've got spiders, too!" he said (and he could mentally beat himself over how lame that line was later), and he wrestled the villain's one free metal limb, trying to break the sharp end of it off. The 'beak' snapped at him but didn't manage to land a hit before he tore through it, exposing some wires.

**Y (Why were you even listening to that guy?! Who gives a fuck about some random truck driver?)**

"Everyone has someone who loves them... Spidey said so himself." It was hard for Wade to keep the conversation inside his head with the onset migraine forcing itself on him due to trauma and blood loss.

**W (Clearly he's lying. Who could love us? We are quite literally the personification of dog shit that someone scraped off their shoe.)**

Wade winced at the harsh words before drawing a katana off of his back. He sliced the metal tentacles with practiced ease, his aim just a little off from the fact that he was slowly bleeding to death. He knew he wouldn't really die though. The universe was too cruel for that.

Spider-Man heard Deadpool talking, but once he realized that the Merc wasn't talking to him he tuned it out. The Merc with the Mouth was more than known for his... personal conversations. Everyone knew the guy was a little off, but there was speculation that he just did it for attention, or for a show to throw off other people. Maybe he had no idea he was even speaking aloud, or he had absolutely no filter (which was a better guess, as it seemed to be the case). Spider-Man pushed it out of his mind and tried to finish the job of sending Doc Ock back to prison. Once all of his metal arms had been removed or broken, the man was relatively harmless. He finally gave up struggling after he realized he would do better to save his energy and come back to fight another day than to continue now, when there was no way he would be able to win.

Police raided the scene when Deadpool freed himself, one or two knocking into him like they had some form of vendetta. "Yeah, no problem guys, open bleedin' wound an' all, kick the dog when he's down."

**Y (Well, we do look flea-ridden and mangy.)**

Once Doc Ock was subdued and Deadpool was sure Spider-Man could handle it all, the red-and-black-masked man started to limp away. His stomach was slowly regenerating and he was fighting back the urge to vomit blood and that nasty yellow stomach acid. He made it to a somewhat closed-off alley and collapsed against the wall, gripping his head.

The police had officially taken over, and though Spider-Man wanted to stay and help check for people trapped under rubble, the cops seemed like they really wanted him gone. He didn't blame them after the slandering the Daily Bugle had done, but hadn't he shown them more than enough times that he was fighting to _help_ people? To work towards a better future?

Eh. It didn't really matter much right now. He was worn out, and now that adrenaline wasn't pumping through his veins, he felt just how ready his body was to lie down and sleep. He also needed to take care of his leg -- he may have quicker healing thanks to mutated genes, but that didn't mean that his scrapes and cuts couldn't get infected.

He turned to tell Deadpool awkwardly that he did owe him a thank you for taking a hit for him, but there was no Merc to be found. He looked around, trying to spot the red-and-black costume among the sea of onlookers. Then he noticed a trail of blood, and he really felt like he shouldn't just let the other go like this. Something was eating at the back of his mind. He was frustrated that the man hadn't waited around and now Spider-Man had to go find him instead of going to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the warning tags, friends. Gore and suicide in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the kudos and amazing response from the last chapter! <3<3 We are both excited.

Spider-Man took to the skies, knowing better than to walk the streets.  The congestion of people stuck in traffic or otherwise trying to catch a glimpse of the wreckage were making it hard to spot the bloody footsteps on the pavement.  And after a point, they just seemed to stop entirely.  He climbed onto the roof of a building and scanned the crowd.

He couldn't find Deadpool anywhere, and the man was definitely large enough to find in a crowd.  Eventually his shoulders slumped and he admitted defeat.  The mercenary was going to pop up again sooner or later.  He wasn't sure what it was that he wanted to say to the man other than to get him the hell out of NYC.  Trouble always found Deadpool -- or he was the one _causing_ it.  Either way, he was a ticking time bomb, and Spider-Man didn't want that bomb to go off on his watch.

As he was about to start swinging his way home, he looked down and saw a flash of red from a darkened alleyway.  It was one of those cramped ones that had just enough room for a one-person fire exit and maybe a trashcan or two.

Deadpool wasn't moving.  He was just laying there, propped up against one of the grimy walls.  Spider-Man creeped down the side of what seemed to be a mom-and-pop deli, moving entirely like a spider as he did so.  Something wasn't right.  He felt a buzzing at the base of his skull, and he didn't know yet if it was his sixth sense or if it was just nerves -- but something was very wrong.  The air was palpable with negative energy.  He was torn between saying something and absolute silence.

"Hey, you, uh... just kind of left without saying anything back there," Spider-Man finally said.

Every word dripped with awkwardness.  He'd screamed at Deadpool for killing someone out of negligence, but now he also owed Deadpool for saving his innards from being run though and allowing him the time he needed to help get civilians away from the fight.  He swallowed, and it sounded like the loudest thing in the world to his own ears.

Deadpool's hands were shaking. He couldn't even hear Spider-Man coming up on him or speak -- which, after years upon years of mercenary and military training alike, should have been a pretty strong indicator that he was not well.  His mask was half wrenched off of his face, bile and blood needing to be expelled from his body before it started to rot.  The burn of acid barely registered as he felt the tears prickle his eyes. The boxes were so _loud_ , picking apart the very things that made Wade Wilson a human being and crushed them under the weight of insults.

**Y (You don't even deserve to die in a nasty alley like this.  S'too good for you.)**

**W (You'll owe the people who own this building so much money and a fucking apology for even rubbing your stink all over the back of it, you filthy fuck.)**

Tears were actively streaming down his cheeks despite how tightly shut Wade's eyes were.  He was trembling, gripping his temples.  His voice was wavering and wet, stalled thanks to the massive blood loss and injuries he had sustained.  "I-I know... mo-momma always said she raised a shit stain on society.  Can't do no good. Sh-shut up please... _**please**_..."

**W (What makes you think you deserve silence?  You gave your right to silence away when you started forcing it on others.)**

Wade burrowed his head into his knees, forcing himself to not physically bash his head against the brick wall. He didn't want to damage the alley anymore than he already had with his horrid carcass.  "F-Fuckin' tried this time too... w-wanted to make 'em proud."

**Y (Spider-Man fucking hates your very existence; he said so himself.  You'll never get him to respect you. Let's not even talk about how bad you fucked up with the Avengers.)**

"I-I know... Sp-Spidey'd rather I be dead.  L-least we got that in common, yeah?  He's too nice ta say it though; too good.  S'a real hero."  A mirthless laugh bubbled from his lips, as Wade's hand traveling along his hip for his pistol, fingers trembling.  "C-can at least rid the world of me for a hour or two right?  S'the best fuckin' gift I could give anyone."

There he was, talking to himself again — Spider-Man really wondered about the legitimacy of his crazy, especially when he mentioned Spider-Man's name _conveniently_ right as he arrived.  But the way Deadpool pleaded, the way he sounded so completely _broken_ when he begged…

Fear began to build up in his gut.  There was a generous supply of homeless schizophrenics in New York — at least one at every corner. Was it really so impossible that Deadpool could be like them?  Insanity meant that reason was always just out of reach.  Spider-Man honestly felt scared right now, that the mercenary was going to hurt himself -- or others. That emotion boiled over when he saw Deadpool reaching for his gun.

It was almost completely muscle memory for Wade now.  He would have to force himself to remember to give whoever owned this building money for cleaning up his filth.  He wrapped his lips around the barrel of the gun.

“Deadpool, _no_!” Spider-Man screamed, but he was frozen in place. All he could do was yell, and reach uselessly for the other.  then Deadpool squeezed the trigger, followed by a sharp pain and then blissful nothingness.  (Even that was more than he deserved.)

When the gunshot sounded, Spider-Man's vision went totally white for a second.  Every single time he’d ever heard a gun go off ran through his memory at full speed, and it paused to focus on Ben the longest.  On May sobbing, on the police interviewing them in a blur, of the blood that he’d gotten on his hands and shirt and jeans and—

He was trembling, he was hyperventilating, and all he could see was gore.  Blood, spinal fluid, brains and skull; all of it was everywhere, all over the wall behind Deadpool, and the alley.  It was a chain reaction; it didn’t matter who it was, he’d just witnessed a _violent suicide_.  He was crying, half from his panic attack, and half from his whirlwind of emotions.  This was something that would be ingrained in him for the rest of his life.  This was something he would dream about for years and wake up screaming from them every time, just like he did with Ben, with Gwen, with everyone he’d ever lost.

He wasn’t sure when he’d crumpled to the ground, when he’d started digging into his own skin, tearing his costume, too.  What if Deadpool didn’t come back? What if this was the one time he _wouldn’t_?  The last thing he’d ever have done was yell at him, was blame him, was hate him for not living up to his own standards.

Peter Parker didn’t handle death very well.  He kept every single one on his shoulders, on his back, and every year he was caving more and more under that weight.  It didn’t matter how many people he saved, he still let some die.  Deadpool was now one more straw to carry.  He could have stopped him, he should have done _something_ , _anything_ …!

He had no idea how much time passed, but Deadpool wasn’t coming back yet.  He might never.  Spider-Man crawled forward.  He retched.  He could smell the carnage through his mask, and it was overwhelming.  Trying to keep his last meal down (as if it were still there at this point anyway), he reached for the Merc’s hand that was limp by his side.  The one that hadn’t held the gun.

“C-c’m’n, Deadpool,” he said, and paused to gag.  “You have to… you have to wake up.  You _have_ to.”

He was squeezing the hand he’d grabbed so hard that he felt the bones snap under his fingers.  He couldn’t seem to let go, though.

“Come on,” he said again, and he felt hot tears soak through part of his mask.  He had never been close to the man, and he had always been glad for that.  But he never thought that Deadpool would commit suicide, and especially not that he'd never have to see it.  The man was beyond messed up, but Spider-Man still felt as if this was his fault -- he had quite the guilt complex. And Deadpool sounded completely broken before he'd done it; said no one could love him.  The thought of that had really eaten at the Merc  _that_ much...

Spider-Man looked down the alleyway, the one that lead out into one of the main streets.  There were a few people staring in, probably having heard the gunshot and stayed for the fact that there were two Costumes, and Spider-Man possibly having just murdered someone.

He shot webbing from one wall to the other, effectively closing the alleyway's mouth up.  No one would be able to get past it unless they dropped down on them from the rooftop, and the webbing would grow weak on its own and deteriorate after a few hours.  With that done, he reveled in the privacy it gave them, and he ripped off his mask to wipe his face as dry as he could.  The blood stung his eyes — he hadn’t thought that he’d have dirtied his hands with it before trying to clean his tears away.  He was still holding Deadpool’s hand in his with a death-grip, and he tried not to look at the other’s lower jaw that was still mostly in-tact, and the tongue that was hanging out in it.  He didn’t want to have that memorized.  It was already bad enough.

“God, you’re so _stupid_ ,” he spat, angry again.

He didn’t know who he was more mad at — himself, Deadpool, or how fucked up life was in general.

“ _Idiot_ ,” he hissed.  Again, he wasn’t sure if this was aimed at himself or the corpse he was clinging to.

“ _Wake up_.”

\--

_**Wake up.** _

The command was nagging at the base of Wade's skull.  He groaned, the air in his lungs feeling like it was quite literally on fire from growing anew.  His eyes fluttered open, seeing a blurry, gloved hand gripping at his own.  Was his hand broken?

**Y (Good job, Fuck-nut.  You shot yourself in public again.)**

**W (Too bad you can't get shipped off to a pound and euthanized.  Look, Spidey's even here to yell at you again.)**

_Spidey_...?

Wade kept his head down, the pain behind his eyes just a bit too intense to look up yet.  "Wh-what... I..."  His voice was slurred, tongue feeling like it was too big for his mouth.

Wade took a breath, the movement sending spikes through his system.  "I-I... I really didn't know about that guy in the truck. I'm r-real sorry."

He could hear Spider-Man's breath hitch, and the sounds from the street.  Fuck; they were in that alley he stumbled into.  "H-how... why?   _When_ did you... find me?"

Peter's head whipped up so fast he got whiplash (and his neck made an audible crack) at the sound of _words_.  He wiped his face again, this time with the palms of his hands, finally letting go of Deadpool's.  After clearing away the tears and an awkward amount of snot, he realized that he was currently Spider-Man sans mask.  He quickly pulled the filthy (and damp...) thing on and cleared his throat.  He breathed in deep and shaky to try to ground himself.

Then he hit the wall next to Deadpool, cracking some of the bricks, a few shards and dust falling from them.  It was one-hundred percent his fault that Deadpool blew his damn brains out and the mercenary was actually _apologizing_?

"I don't _ca_ \--" he stopped himself, and went quiet for a few seconds.  That needed to be addressed.  "I shouldn't have assumed you knew.  I--" his hand fell away from the wall.

" _I'm_ sorry, Deadpool.  And I owe you a lot for what you did," he added slowly.

Spider-Man was still shaking from having watched the Merc off himself so easily.  This probably wasn't the first time, and that sat very poorly with Spider-Man.  He'd never honestly treated the other man as an actual human being, with feelings that could be badly hurt, as someone who thought about more than ogling people's rears and bad jokes.

And he felt like absolute shit for it.

"Deadpool... we need to... talk."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit son, you guys seem to be diggin' it <3 well, I'm sure glad we have a lot of this prewritten. :3

Wade couldn't hold his head up. He didn't want to see those judgmental reflective eyes anymore. He knew where this was going to go. Spider-Man was going to run him out of New York again. He was going to tell him to get the fuck out and that he didn't belong here.

"Save it, Webhead. You ain't gotta say it all nice and in hero speak. I fucked up an' you want me gone.  _I want me gone too_ , I got a few non-lethal jobs rounded up, an' when that shits done I won't be buggin' -- yes, I heard what I said-- you no more."

Wade stood up, almost trying to make his stature small. He rolled the remains of his mask back down over his chin and tucked it into his collar on reflex. "I didn't..." He sighed, the boxes already getting to destructive levels of loud. "Sorry you had ta stumble upon a gore fest like that. Should'a waited 'til I got home, like a proper gentleman."

Instead of getting compliance for his request, Spider-Man was met with Deadpool's aloof response. And peppered in there was some self-hate that now stuck out like a sore thumb. The Merc would usually, at some point, put himself down, but it was always played for laughs. Now they seemed like glaring red flags.

Spider-Man got the feeling that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and it made him feel sick. Speaking of sick... this was his first time seeing the majority of the mercenary's face. He'd seen up to the other man's nose before, but now it was clear that the scarring covered every inch of skin. Deadpool had never been quiet or secretive with his out-of-costume identity, but he was most definitely both of those things about keeping as much of his body covered as possible. To think that Deadpool may possess the ability to feel insecure had never occurred to him, not once, not in all of the time he'd 'known' him (and that word was being used _very_ lightly).

Even though the Merc had pulled what was left of his mask back down, that didn't fix the fact that a bullet had gone out one end of it. Spider-Man could see bits of skull still sticking to it. His stomach churned horribly again, but it was a cold reminder of what he'd witnessed, despite that Deadpool was up and walking again. (And Spider-Man was... thankful for that -- that the loudmouth woke up at all.)

"No, Deadpool," he said, and his voice was raised and firm (even if it was somewhat croaky from having just cried himself into hysterics). He grabbed the taller man's shoulder and held tight. Deadpool still wasn't acting right, and now it was painfully obvious... and he would have blown it off as nothing.

"I'm serious. We need to talk. Right now." He looked back at the webbing that was keeping the peeping eyes of pedestrians at bay.

"And I'm not... kicking you out," he said, and his voice was quieter. He felt guilt, and he wasn't sure it would ever fully go away. It usually never did.

"Let's just talk. Please."

He was so tired. He just wanted this day to end, but he didn't want it to end this badly for either of them.

Deadpool's shoulders slumped. He didn't quite meet the slighter man's eyes. When was the last time someone had actually touched him willingly? Wade swallowed, feeling awkward under those reflective lenses. "You can talk all you want, Spidey. I ain't gonna stop ya. The boxes are makin' it real fuckin' hard to focus, though. An'..."

 _Boxes_. Spider-Man had heard them mentioned briefly in passing. Were those what he called the voices in his head? Either way, he didn't like the way Deadpool acted so defeated under his hand.

What made it even worse was what the Merc said afterward.

Wade rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the feeling of sticky and flaking blood. He wiped his hand on his pants leg, swallowing hard. "I didn't mean for you to find me all dead in a ditch somewhere. I know you got a lotta shit restin' on your shoulders. I ain't gotta be one of them too. I bounce back, kid. I don't really mind takin' the hit cause that means the real heroes ain't hurt."

Spider-Man had never seen a vulnerable side to Deadpool before. He wasn't sure of himself right now -- if it just hadn't ever been shown to him, or he hadn't wanted to see it. He wasn't innocent of not having picked on the guy (every hero did -- the Avengers did, too). They all felt like Deadpool deserved it. Spider-Man felt sick when he thought about it. No, Deadpool deserved to be _reprimanded_ , to be _talked_ to. He was a human being, even if he was a mildly psychotic mutate, and it was obvious now that _life_ affected him. _Words_ affected him. He would throw himself into danger and get himself killed without a second thought, but he kept the words he heard with him. It really was a 'sticks and stones' situation. Spider-Man could say from experience that words could cause damage that lasted much longer than any broken bone.

He felt like a bully. He remembered vividly how being on the receiving end had felt, and how it affected him even after he graduated high school. It affected him now.

It was so jarring to see Deadpool in this new light. It was like the infamous Merc with a Mouth was a different person entirely, and instead here was this pitiful, self-hating side that _wanted to die_ but oddly shared the same body and voice. Today's events had driven the guy to _suicide_.

"Deadpool," he said, and his voice wavered slightly. He was honestly a little scared that the other man was going to go off and hurt himself again. Yes, of course he always came back, but it was the implications of what that meant that scared him.

He realized he was gripping Deadpool's shoulder a little too hard and he immediately let go.

But now that he'd set himself up for a speech, he had no idea what to say. He was the one that pushed the need to talk, and now he _couldn't_. He tried to think of words that he could arrange in an order that meant something, something profound, something that would make Deadpool stop talking so poorly of himself right then and there. His mouth opened uselessly a few times before he finally said, "I wanted to thank you. You... you were really--" Really? Really _what_? _'Come on Peter, you're supposed to have a decently high IQ, and you're stumbling over your own words?'_

He thought about Deadpool putting that gun in his mouth. Spider-Man felt himself start to shake. "You deserve to live. You don't have to do this to yourself. I shouldn't have yelled at you." It all came out in a rush. "I was angry and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have." He'd seen how Deadpool had punished himself for the man in the truck. He blamed himself just like Spider-Man had blamed him. The fact that Deadpool cared about random strangers had never even been a passing thought before.

And _he'd_ helped drive someone to _suicide_. That was completely on his shoulders. He would never be able to shake that.

Deadpool looked at Spider-Man, the shock evident on his half-masked features. _Deadpool_ deserved to _live_? Someone was willingly talking to him, had established physical contact, and now wanted to make him feel good about himself? _Holy shit, it's Christmas_.

 **Y (Look at that ass; it's** _**definitely** _ **Christmas)**

Deadpool reached forward briefly, his gloved fingertips gliding over Peter's cheek. He near-instantly pulled back. "S-sorry, I uh, had to make sure I wasn't hallucinatin'. You really are here though, uh..."

Spider-Man was startled when Deadpool touched him. He'd seen it coming, but for some reason his brain hadn't made the connection with someone moving their hand towards his face and actually intending to come in contact with said face. That, and his spider sense was completely silent, and that threw him off even more.

Wait, so did Deadpool hallucinate too? Or was it just one of those corny things people said, like when they pinch themselves to know they're not dreaming? But Deadpool looked so surprised, even though his partial mask... He really was mentally ill. And Spider-Man had been _making fun of him_ all this time.

He scratched at his arm, not really sure where to go from there. Spider-Man was talking so nice at him, it was hard to process. "You ain't gotta thank me for helping you. I was careless an' left you open to the attack. I really don't mind it none. It was _my_ fault."

Deadpool glanced around, eyes falling on the puddles of gore that had once been the back of his head and stomach lining. He frowned. Spider-Man hadn't been there to see _that_ right? He shook his head. "Nah, you was right, Spidey. You're a real hero, just like them Avengers. I shouldn't be trying to be somethin' I'm not. An' fuck, I'm just glad I could save ya, you know? Meta Human Shield is pretty much all I can offer to the table when I can't unalive a motherfucker."

And the self-deprecating talk continued...

He gave Spider-Man a timid, sincere smile. "You are okay, right? I can still shoot that weird hentai guy between the eyes if ya want. He kinda owes me a liver and some change. Did he get you too?"

Spider-Man was still struggling with words, and he'd been silent this whole time.  "No -- _no_. You didn't leave me open to attack. _I_ wasn't paying attention. I was being... I was being a real asshole to you." That was definitely how he would describe himself, yes. He was no better than Flash Thompson or any other self-righteous bully.

He looked away, down at a trashcan that was a few feet off to the side, so full that some of its contents overflowed. He traced his eyes along all of the edges of one of the crumpled papers. It was a good distraction, and it meant he didn't have to try to make eye contact, even if that couldn't be seen through his mirror-lenses.

But Deadpool kept on talking, and Spider-Man was starting to feel like he wasn't really sitting there with him at all. Like this wasn't real. That was probably bad -- he was going into shock or something. Then his eyes dragged back to the Merc when he felt he was being looked at again. He would never be able to understand how Deadpool's mask was always so animated and expressive -- it was a _mask_ , and they were meant to cover up _everything_.

And for the offer of killing Doc Ock... "No; he's on his way to prison," Spider-Man said a little distantly. If he were honest with himself, it was Doc Ock who killed that truck driver, not Deadpool. Deadpool hadn't thrown the truck. He couldn't have -- he was strong, but he wasn't as strong as Spider-Man himself. Doc Ock was, though. Now he felt even worse when he realized he treated the mad scientist better than he did Deadpool.

He hoped his own mask didn't show just how unhappy he was. Had Doc Ock hurt him? "Not really," he fibbed. His leg would be fine. It wasn't worth bringing up. Deadpool would probably just blame himself for that, too.

Silence. He was supposed to be a good person, a 'real hero', and smart... but those were the last things he felt like right now. He took minimal comfort in knowing that other people would have just as hard a time figuring out what to say to someone who'd just blown their own brains out. (Not that many people get that chance in the first place.)

"Do you want me to get you home?" he asked awkwardly. "I'd like to offer to buy a quick dinner or something, but I left my wallet in my other pants." Not like he had any money for take-out, but hey. Joking to lighten the mood and all that jazz.

Deadpool looked confused for a moment. He peered around them, keeping the movement light and joking. He broke out into a grin. "'M I on candid camera or some shit? Did Spider-Man just offer to buy me food? Wait, are you even old enough to get that reference? Jesus Christ, I'm old. And Canadian, we didn't even have Candid Camera. Well, that joke fell flat. Fuck."

Well, that was certainly a topic jump. Spider-Man cocked his head slightly and frowned. He vaguely remembered his aunt and uncle watching that T.V. show when he was little -- his parents didn't, not that he could think of, anyway. But he was also in that age where he was finally old enough to do a lot of things adults did, like voting and not being in high school anymore. He felt a little bit defensive, wanting to tell Deadpool that he _was_ old enough, he _wasn't_ a kid anymore.

"If we were on a television show, they'd have to make us sign waivers, and I don't see anyone with a stack of papers coming for us." There, that was nice, neutral answer.

Even though it didn't feel quite right, it was much easier to slip back into his joking persona. Spider-Man was still too in shock about what he'd seen, about what had happened. He was sure it would fully sink in later, and he'd deal with it then.

Wade shrugged after a moment. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but it was worth a shot right? "I uh, I don't mind footin' the bill if you wanna get somethin' to eat. You look like ya could get picked up by the wind, ya know. I mean, uh, you ain't gotta by no stretch of the imagination. I ain't exactly great dinner conversation, but, uh... shit, where was I goin' with this?"

Picked up by wind? "I'll have you know that I'm pure lean muscle," he said, and he pointed at Deadpool accusingly. Just because he was wiry didn't mean he didn't eat.

...I mean, he _didn't_ eat a lot -- at least not _well_ \--, but that was not the point.

He was worried that they'd be kicked out of anywhere just on appearance alone. Covered in blood, smelly, and their suits had definitely seen better days. Low-quality food was probably their best bet, if they were to go anywhere. He'd also rather not be filmed or caught on someone's cell-phone going out to dinner with the mercenary -- and then a quick flash of guilt followed that thought. He really didn't want to be seen associating with someone who had such a bad reputation outside of fighting villains. But then... he had already been seen fighting alongside the guy, and he was going to get his name dragged under the bus regardless of what he did.

Spider-Man was uneasy about the idea, but he was also worried what would happen if he declined.

"You think a Denny's would care if we got blood on their booths?" he asked. On the plus side, if he got kicked out and banned from any food places, he could still go there _out_ of costume.

"Denny's exists in the day time? Shit, I thought that was just a place people ended up after a night of bar hoppin' so they didn't get a nasty hangover." Wade rummaged through the pouches on his hip, wrinkling his nose.

Well, that was definitely true -- Peter'd seen more than his share of drunkards using Denny's as a place to sit down and stuff something warm in their face. He felt bad for the staff. "Surprisingly, yes."

Then Deadpool moved and grabbed a spare mask from one of the pockets, looking up to Spider-Man sheepishly. "Uh... mind turnin' around or closin' your eyes for a second? The massacre under this pretty bonnet ain't really that, well... pretty. I'd rather save yer innocence on that one."

The awkwardness was palpable when Deadpool finished talking. The fact that he carried more than one around with him said a lot about his personal insecurities. The comments about his appearance only amplified that. Spider-Man turned around like he was asked. He was pretty positive that Deadpool wouldn't ditch him while his back was turned, and he didn't feel like he was at risk of being stabbed either. It was... really sad just how much Spider-Man offering to be around the Merc for any amount of time lifted the man's spirits. Even if someone were blind they would be able to hear how much happier Deadpool seemed just by his tone of voice.

Spider-Man took this time to check himself over, noting just how much he was going to have to fix his suit. The fabric around his palms were torn, and the cut on his leg had split the spandex completely open. The more he moved, the bigger the hole was getting. His back stung, so he was pretty sure he would have to fix that part up, too. Good thing he could sew, huh?

When Deadpool watched the hero turn around, he quickly switched out his masks. This new one smelled a lot less like death, and it didn't have gaping holes through it. He was going to consider that a win. "There. My beautiful self is all back in workin' order."

It was almost like a switch was suddenly flicked in his head. "Wait... you actually wanna go with me? I mean, hell yeah, that sounds awesome! I just... Really?"

**W (Why are you tryin' to sabotage the equivalent of a pity fuck? Let Spider-Man pal around with ya so you can pretend you two are friends.)**

**Y (He'll get bored an' creeped out pretty soon anyway. I mean, you do talk to yourself.)**

Deadpool's sudden realization made Spider-Man turn around and watch him from behind his wide lenses.  Deadpool couldn't seem to believe it. He must be pretty lonely... Now Spider-Man felt even _worse_ , and he didn't know that was actually possible.

"Of course I do," he answered. "I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise." He wasn't about to turn around and take back his words. That was more than just cruel.

Wade shook his head. "If you don't wanna actually sit down in a restaurant I know some killer food trucks and stands we could venture towards. Less, uh, you know, press worthy?"

A food truck would mean that either of them were free to leave at anytime -- of course, that went for a sit-down place as well, but it just felt like it would keep both of them there and talking longer. Spider-Man didn't want Deadpool to run off, and he didn't want to allow himself the freedom of doing the same, especially when there was so much that needed to be said. He genuinely wanted to know more about Deadpool. Maybe if the Merc felt like he could confide in Spider-Man... maybe he... maybe he wouldn't want to...

"Uh, yeah, sure. Food truck works just as well." They could get a small meal quicker that way at least, and maybe relocate to a rooftop or something. It would be a lot more private that way.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, we're closes to 30 comments and 100 kudos. You guys are so stellar, <3 <3

Spider-Man looked up at the narrow space between the top of the two buildings. He could easily get out by using the wall, but Deadpool would have to climb the fire escape. He thought about a way that he could possibly convince Deadpool that he was completely serious.

"Uh," he began, and suddenly it was like he was a shy young kid getting up in front of a class to speak all over again. His mind blanked on how to word it, or what he even wanted to say, and he got a sure sense of stage fright.

"Um," he went on and he glanced off to the side. "If you wanna get on my back, I can get us there -- it'll be faster, and I'm stronger than I look, so it wouldn't be difficult --"

God, he was rambling. He'd sounded less dumb (probably) when he asked Gwen out, and that said a lot.

"Oh Spidey, what kinda girl do you think I am? You have to wine an' dine me before I'll ride ya. My chastity is on the line!" Wade cried and then winked at Spider-Man.

Aaaand Spider-Man suddenly remembered why he didn't talk to Deadpool much. His head found his hand and he face-planted, covering part of his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. He groaned at the bad sex-joke.

"You know that's not what I meant," he mumbled. He felt his ears burn a little.

Deadpool was like the human equivalent of the 'that's what she said' line. But... it occurred to him just then, that Deadpool might not actually intend to go past joking. He certainly didn't seem to want people to see his skin, and that was definitely something that went hand-in-hand with...

The mercenary nodded after a second, letting the earlier joke drop. "But seriously, uh, that sounds wicked cool? Like, you would really do that? I've got a bit of strength on me, I can scale this building no problem, I think. You don't gotta do nothin' you don't wanna."

Spider-Man cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "No, it's fine." He dropped his hand and then he seemed unsure what to do. Was he supposed to lower himself down so the Merc could climb on, or... He wasn't exactly well-versed in giving piggy-back rides, much less to someone bigger than him. "Well, all-aboard," he said, and left it up to Deadpool to do all of the work of getting himself situated.

He was pretty sure he was going to look back on this in a few days and wish he hadn't done this. This seemed like the sort of embarrassing memory that would sneak up on him when he was trying to sleep.

With a shocking amount of grace, Deadpool secured himself around Spider-Man's lithe frame. He hooked his legs around the other's middle and made sure to keep his touches as respectful and necessary as possible. To joke was one thing, but he would never actually push himself on someone else. He spoke away from Spider-Man, assuming his hearing was rather acute. "Is this alright? If it's still too weird I can climb. I ain't helpless."

It was weird, but it wasn't the _bad_ kind of weird. Deadpool wasn't being too rough, and was actually very conscious of himself. Spider-Man was impressed by that. Someone so large, built, and trained to murder... and he was being _gentle_. Spider-Man shifted his weight, and he immediately found his new center of balance.

"I know you're not," he said, and then jumped onto the brick wall and began to climb up. He was glad that the small hairs on his hands could hold so much weight, because together they had to hit the three-hundred-pound mark, and probably past even that. He had to admit that it was an odd sensation to bend his body as he always did while climbing and have someone else's limbs obstructing that movement slightly. It didn't really matter much, though, since they reached the roof in under five seconds. Spider-Man leaned forward, and turned his head to talk at Deadpool. "Make sure you hold on tight," he advised, and then took off running.

With practiced ease, he leapt off of the building and shot webbing out to swing them just above the bustle of the people and traffic of the busy streets. He loved doing this. He always felt a thrill that he couldn't get anywhere else, and he felt so _free_ \-- free from stress, free from obligation, free from his everyday life of Peter Parker. The sensation was similar to a roller coaster, but he had all of the control, which took the fear out of it. It immediately put him in a better mood and cleared his mind of the past few hours. He felt like this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Where's this food stand you want to go to?" he shouted, so that he could be heard over the wind and sounds of the city that were currently flying past them.

Wade couldn't decide if this was absolutely the coolest thing he had ever been a part of or if he was going to throw up. It was a toss up. He pointed, finding that easier than trying to yell over the roar. He directed Spider-Man until they were in a somewhat grungy part of the city (but not quite unsafe). He was almost vibrating in excitement when they touched down. "I know it don't look like much, really, but I go here all the time. Food is phenomenal an' they don't ask questions."

It had been a little hard to slow them down so Spider-Man could touch the ground and come to a full stop, but thankfully his feet were just was 'sticky' as his hands. He had actually thankful for having Deadpool wrapped around him, because even with his suit that was supposed to help keep warm in and cold out (and vice versa), swinging at such high speeds could get pretty chilly. His fingers were actually tingling slightly as they started to warm back up.

Before them was a street lined with several different food vendors, and it looked almost like the set up at an event. Deadpool climbed off of the vigilante hero seconds after they they touched down, not wanting to make it weird, and Spider-Man readjusted how he was standing. The Merc shot the other a mild smile. "There are a lot of factories an' stuff around here, so food trucks make a killin'. Kinda feelin' some Japanese myself, but you can get anythin' you want; I got plenty of cash."

This wasn't an area Spider-Man had ever been (not outside of costume, anyway), and unfortunately it wasn't very feasible to walk all the way out here or take a bus, and he definitely would not to pay for a taxi. Knowing this, he spent his time looking carefully at his choices.

Something just didn't feel quite right about Deadpool paying for his food -- even if he didn't have any money with him. It felt wrong, but part of that was probably him living with his not-so-well-off aunt after his uncle... Money wasn't exactly something that they could give much of freely at the end of every month, and so it was ingrained in him that he shouldn't just take it from others.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, seeing (and smelling) something that actually looked really good. The vender was eyeing him, but like Deadpool said, he wasn't asking questions. There were tons of weirdos in New York, and a lot of people dressed up as everything from superheroes to the Statue of Liberty walking around.

It had been a long time since he'd had a good hot dog that wasn't something he'd microwaved himself. He absentmindedly put a hand on his stomach. It was probably how exhausted he was, but he really wanted to just eat and head off to bed. That wasn't fair to Deadpool, though. He wasn't going to ditch the Merc right after the guy paid for his food.

Wade looked around the vendor area, taking in all of the different scents. Turning back to Spidey, he fished a wad of cash out of the pouch strapped to his thigh, handing it to the masked hero. "Here; just get what you want. Leave 'em a good tip, too. These people work hard for it. Don't try an' cheat yourself none, either. You look like you ain't eaten in days."

With that, the mercenary walked off the hunt down the okonomiyaki stand he'd seen a few weeks prior. It was at the edge of the street and smelled absolutely delicious. In shockingly fluent Japanese, he ordered three of the house specialty cabbage cakes, and then teetered on the balls of his feet as he waited for them.

Spider-Man stared at the handful of money for quite some time. This was at _least_ a hundred dollars. It felt completely unreal to be holding this much and knowing he was about to drop all away in one purchase. He'd never been able to tip so much -- and part of him felt envious that Deadpool had enough pocket change that he could just _give_ it to people. He'd _love_ to be able to surprise an underpaid waitress with a hundred-dollar tip for waiting on him. If he had the funds that Deadpool did, he knew he could make a lot of people happy.

He tried to bury that feeling. He was able to do it right here and now, and he shouldn't feel envy for someone who just told him to give it all to a street vender. Deadpool thought workers deserved extra pay, and he was doing what Peter Parker would do if he could. The mercenary was looking less and less like a joke-cracking, selfish prick, and more like someone who had been dealt a shitty hand and tried to make the best of it.

"Thank you," he finally said, but he realized that Deadpool had already wandered off.

He eyed the bills for a few more seconds before he folded them up and finally approached the vender. "Two hotdogs with everything," he said, and accompanied that by holding up two fingers.

The man nodded and immediately started working on it. It didn't take too long before there were two picture-perfect dogs piled high with mustard, onions, and sauerkraut. God, he was hungry. He was thankful that ketchup wasn't something that was typically added without specifically asking at most stalls, because the red would remind him of blood he'd just seen recently. _Too_ recently.  With that thought came the scene they'd come away from.

His appetite left before he'd even gotten in a single bite. He didn't even hear how much his meal cost, he just handed over the money and started walking away with a quiet, "Thanks."

He went to lean against a nearby wall, and watched as Deadpool ordered, looking like a kid in a candy shop. Spider-Man swallowed hard. It was difficult to want to eat when he couldn't stop replaying that horrible moment in his head. He moved on autopilot as he rolled up the bottom of his mask and pinched a piece of bread off of the bun and slipped it in his mouth. It tasted good, even though it was just plain white bread, but his gut churned for two totally different reasons. He broke another piece off -- this one had some mustard on it -- and tried to convince himself he wanted food by forcing it on himself.

Deadpool walked over a little bit later, and he held out one of the take-out boxes to Spider-Man. "Here, try this. Shit's delicious. I tried it in Japan a few years ago and holy _shit_. Perfection. I ain't even real big on veggies an' stuff, but the mouth wants what it wants, ya digg?" Spider-Man glanced up at Deadpool as the older man immediately began chatting. It was as if nothing life-altering (or life _ending_ ) had happened earlier at all. Deadpool looked at his companion, tilting his head almost like a puppy. Sure he was an idiot at times, but it was in his professional calling to be able to read a person. "You okay, kid? We can still go to Denny's or somethin' if you prefer. I just thought you might uh, want a variety or somethin'. Or, ya know, maybe you should go home an' rest? You look like yer gonna keel over. Fuck, we did just fight an octopus asshole, you're pro'lly exhausted. I shouldn't a dragged you out here."

Of course Deadpool would notice that Spider-'Chatty Cathy'-Man wasn't his usual self while he stood in silence, literally picking at his food. The half-arachnid shook his head. He had forgotten he didn't have his mask covering his mouth, so it was completely obvious when his tight lips were pulled downward in a frown.

Deadpool sat his food down on the ground by his feet, wringing his hands. "Sorry, kid; I forget that not everyone has an internal clock that kinda looks like it should be carried around by that guy in Alice in Wonderland. You know, 'I'm late, I'm late! For a very important date!' An' then that shit is just constantly spinnin' at warp nine? Yeah."

As Deadpool started blaming himself for it, Spider-Man wondered once again if he had just never noticed how much the guy hated himself, or if he'd agreed with the sentiment too much to realize the Merc wasn't joking.

"No, it's not that." He had to be careful how he worded this. He was pretty sure the mercenary would start up his personal hate campaign double-time, and not understand that Spider-Man legitimately wanted to _talk about it_ , to... to _something_.

"I..." He paused again for several seconds.

"I found you right before you..." But he couldn't find the words he wanted -- or he just didn't know what words he wanted at all -- and shifted the hotdogs into one hand so he could gesture with his now-freed hand. He sighed in frustration at himself and finally just made the stereotypical gun with his fingers and aimed it at his mouth. He didn't really want to talk about this on the street where they could be overheard, but he knew he would chicken out bringing this up if he waited long enough for them to get somewhere more secluded.

Wade's eyes widened. Yellow mused softly about how he was particularly glad Wade hadn't been holding his food. He watched the gesture Spider-Man made like it was being played in slow motion. His hands trembled. "O-oh."

He couldn't remember seeing Spider-Man there at all, though if he was being honest with himself, he never could remember roughly ten to fifteen minutes before he decided to pull the trigger -- or drop the toaster, so to speak. It was almost like the boxes completely took over at those times.

He glanced down at the food in Peter's hand and then his own on the ground, noticing just how much more... friendly the human-arachnid-hybrid was acting towards him. It was almost like a gut punch. Spider-Man really was giving him the friendship equivalent to a pity fuck. _'Hey, the freak blew his head off, let's go get some food with him so we can sleep better tonight; I'm still a good person, right?'_

Wade's shoulders slumped, feeling like gravity was working even harder on his frame. There was a peculiar tone in his voice when he spoke. "I'm sorry, that was real fuckin' nasty of me. I didn't mean for anyone to see that. If you're worried about the buildin' though, I planned on payin' for the owners to get professional cleaners an' get it power washed. I know some guys that are real swell at that kinda thing." He scratched the back of his head, silently realizing that the skin had finally healed over. He felt absolutely horrible and disgusting. Spider-Man looked like he was going to vomit on his shoes. Wade tentatively reached forward, wanting to touch Spider-Man's shoulder, but stopped short as if he'd hit a barrier. He pulled back, and swallowed around the knot in his throat. "None of that was your fault, kid. You ain't gotta beat yourself up over spilled milk. I ain't exactly screwed together that tightly these days. Shit just kinda... I dunno. It just happens. I'm irresponsible an' real dangerous to be around. _My_ actions ain't a reflection of _you_."

Spider-Man watched as Deadpool started to curl in on himself, and the air around the Merc drastically changed. He immediately knew he'd messed up, but at the same time his frustration was reaching its limit. "I'm not worried about the _wall_ , Deadpool!" he snapped. "I'm worried about _you_!" Deadpool's life was more than just 'spilled milk'. The Merc wasn't even close to being the most upstanding person in the world, but he was also obviously very sick in the head. Spider-Man huffed and then pushed himself back against the wall behind him and rubbed at his temples with one hand.

"I'm worried about you," he repeated, much more evenly. "I know we're not exactly close, but you can talk to me about this."

Not exactly close? Well, that was definitely the understatement of the year. Spider-Man didn't even know almost anything _about_ Deadpool, save for what he'd heard from other people and Deadpool himself (though all of that was from him rambling mindlessly)... And what he'd heard from other people was far from flattering.

"I... I'm sorry for the way I treat you. I've been a real A-class jerk. I don't want you to have to... go through whatever it is alone. No one should feel like they're expendable." He glanced away, to a piece of gum stuck to the sidewalk that had turned black from grime. "I'm sorry."

Part of him knew he was shoving his foot farther and farther into his mouth with each word -- but he didn't know what to say! This was hard, and awkward, and... and he really felt like a complete asshole. He'd never seen Deadpool as having the worth that every other human life did, and that was probably one of the shittiest things he'd done in all of his life.

"I'm the definition of expendable. I was _made_ to be that way." Deadpool's voice was earth-shatteringly calm. He took a breath through his nose and watched Spider-Man's mouth. He could barely form what he wanted to say in reply. The boxes were taking the liberty to blow raspberries and taunt him, saying that they were always right.  And they were.

"My life hasn't changed. I don't age, I just exist. The only fuckin' thing that's changed about me is _your_ perception of me. I mean, shit, I appreciate that you're a hero an' you gotta always feel like you're doin' the right thing. You wanna _save_ me. I get it. I do." His voice slowly gained emotion and was starting to crack, and he wanted to _scream,_ but he knew Spider-Man wouldn't be appreciative of any more attention being drawn to them.

"I'm not _salvageable_ , kid. That weight isn't on you, though. You're still a good person. You still have hopes an' dreams. But Spidey, listen to me. I don't need your _pity._  I don't _want_ it. I just wanted to get food and pretend I had a friend for a minute, okay? Sometimes to get through this shit without quite literally finding the nearest black hole an' jumping through it, I gotta kill my mind."

Spider-Man wished he could say that wasn't true. But it was, and he felt his ears burning again as he was chastised, and the rest of his face along with it. Eventually, the flush had reached his neck, and it was so warm he could hardly breathe. He felt like he was cooking, and he was sick to his gut, and his heart was pounding hard.

He _had_ always prided himself in being a hero; the one who fights for the people who _couldn't_. But now he felt as if he were everything J. Jonah Jameson claimed he was.

"Deadpool," he said quietly, and then he swallowed audibly. "I'm _sorry_." He couldn't face the other man. Now he'd gone too far to just laugh it off, to just suggest they eat. He didn't have any desire for the food anymore anyway.

"Here's the kicker in all of that, Spidey... _you_ don't gotta be. This ain't the first time I've intimately known what the barrel of a gun tastes like. I grow back, I heal. I'm life's common cold. You think you finally got rid of me, but I'm back at full swing as soon as you get comfortable in the silence. Shit, how many times have you told me to leave you the fuck alone an' stay gone? Yet here we are, havin' _this_ conversation. You don't gotta apologize to me, because _you_ didn't do anything wrong. You were doin' your job. I respect that." Deadpool watched Spider-Man's body language, his voice once more calm and unwavering.

He bent down and then offered his food to Spider-Man, giving a hollow smile. "But for all intents and purposes, I do forgive you. I think you're the first hero to ever actually listen to the crazy shit I spout off. I'm sorry for that. Can't do real good on your ears, I don't think. You actually are a hero t'me, Spidey. You make me wanna you know, clean up my act a bit. ...Eat though, or at least, you know, take it with ya. You seriously look like you haven't had a proper meal since 1997. Spandex doesn't really hide much, kid."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that little break, friends~ Meeps went to a convention and I had to work and was also not feeling my best. But here we are with chapter five~~

Now Deadpool was trying to shrug it off for _him_. The tables turned, and Spider-Man wasn't entirely sure how or when. He sure didn't feel as good as Deadpool claimed he was.

And yet he was forgiven. He looked up at the other, his head still slightly bowed in shame. _Spider-Man_ _made him want to clean up his act_. Imagine if he hadn't been so callous to the mercenary in the past? Where would they both be right now?  Who would they be?

He hesitantly took the food from Deadpool. Inside of the paper box were what looked somewhere between pancakes and hashbrowns. They smelled really good, too. His mouth, despite everything that had gone on, watered in response, but between that and the food he'd bought, he had no hands left. He lifted one of his legs and bent it before swiveling it sideways like a makeshift table. He set the dogs down on that (thank God for being 'sticky', he thought), and then he picked up the offering he'd been given and took a bite.

Being forgiven for being a dick felt amazing, and this food _tasted_ amazing.

"What is this?" Spider-Man asked, still chewing on the crisped cake.

Deadpool looked down at his food and then smiled. "These things are called 'okonomiyaki'. Basically a Japanese cabbage pancake that you can put cheese and meat in. it's crazy delicious. This is the 'house special' because, well, I dunno. I didn't wanna stand there and choose. I think it's got bonito flakes, bacon, green pepper, an' cheese mixed in. I used to get them all the time when I visited Japan. If you really like it, I can get you another one, man. That shit's actually real healthy for ya. They even have a version of it that looks like a fuckin' popcicle, an' they make it on the tips of disposable chopsticks. How clever is that?" He chattered away as he picked at his own food, seeming to actually enjoy the moment. If he just kept talking, he could feel normal for a small time. 

Spider-Man was pretty impressed with the food. He usually didn't like cabbage much, but this tasted amazing. He was also impressed by Deadpool's knowledge, and the fact that he'd been to other countries. But of course he had, he was a Man for Hire, and he clearly had the money to travel. Spider-Man had never been outside of the U.S. before -- hell, he'd never been outside of New York in the last decade.

"Japan _is_ pretty innovative," he agreed. "I actually used some of the micro-technology to upgrade these," he said, and he flexed his hand to show off his web-shooter. It really did feel like everything was alright, at least for the moment. He was glad for it, for the air to be so much easier to breathe in, for the shift in mood.

The Merc took a bite out of his own cabbage cake and sighed happily. It had been years since he got to enjoy one. With that done, his eyes ran over Spider-Man's wrists, admiring the piece of tech. "Those are real nifty. Like, seriously. I'll be real with you though, I'm just glad you ain't like a real spider an' that web don't come out of your butt. You have an absolutely magnificent ass, an' I know beggers an' mangy mutts can't be choosers, but butt-webs is a deal breaker, man."

That comment happened before Spider-Man could swallow his way to safety, and he promptly choked. Even though he was hacking and coughing, he was also trying to stop laughing. He was entirely _too_ thankful he didn't get that spider-trait. He didn't even want to think about having to wear a costume accommodated that so he could still web enemies. He had almost lost his hotdogs to the ground during this fit, but he managed to _just_ save them. After a few more seconds, he was finally able to calm down, too, and got the fried cabbage out of his throat. "Warn me before you say stuff like that again," he accused, attempting to catch his breath. He almost had just literally died laughing.

"Say stuff like what? _Butt webs?_ I promise, I can't warn you before every stupid thing that rolls off my tongue, Wonder Webs. It would be easier to wear a muzzle, but I don't think our relationship is that kinky." Deadpool tossed away his empty box in a nearby trashcan, but he saved the last one in the tissue-paper they'd been wrapped in for for later. He shoved it into one of the pouches at his waist and then rolled down his mask, not wanting people to gawk at them even more than they already were.

Spider-Man felt like he'd been doing crunches after all of that. If he didn't already have notable ab muscles, he'd say he just gained some. "I don't think I'd leave the house much if I farted out web," he said, still grinning. He usually wasn't one to talk about bodily functions in public like that, but it was too good to pass up. "Can you imagine? I wouldn't be able to wear _pants_ \-- they'd never come off!"

Deadpool listened, but he was obviously eyeing the slighter man's legs as Spider-Man did his weird trapeze act, and how he'd somehow managed to save the still-balancing food. He laughed in response to both. It was genuine, and it was  _loud_. "And what the hell are you even trying to accomplish here?" he asked, waving his hand to motion to all of his companion at once. "Just sit on the ground like a normal human."

Spider-Man played that off with a scoff. Sitting hadn't occurred to him even once. "What, and get gum on my 'absolutely magnificent' butt?" he asked, faking offense. It was so easy to just fall back into character, and it felt better this way. The mental weight had lifted from both of them, and was continuing to do so more and more with every passing second. "Besides, then I wouldn't be able to show off my amazing balancing skills," he went on, and he leaned forward to get his back off of the wall so he was honest and truly standing on one leg without even wobbling.

Deadpool rolled his eyes playfully but knew the action was lost to the fabric on his face. His tone was light and teasing. "You're dumb, Spidey."

Spider-Man stuck his tongue out, but the action was missed entirely when they both noticed someone across the street who looked like they were standing still and texting, but were more than likely actually video recording them.

Deadpool's demeanor changed slightly. "We could just, you know, walk to the park that's down the road? There's a really good ice cream cart there, too. Or, uh...? I dunno. I don't wanna pull you away from other shit you'd rather be doing."

Spider-Man did completely agree that relocating was a good idea. Besides that, ice cream sounded like a good way to end the afternoon.

Deadpool had started walking almost as soon as he was done talking, before Spider-Man could answer, clearly assuming he would either follow or use this as a perfect moment to ditch out. The mercenary had been enjoying the hero's company though, even if they had hit an awkward spot there for a minute.

Or twelve.

Spider-Man didn't like the feeling that left him with, and he chased after Deadpool, tossing the dirty, grease-soaked napkin that was the remains of his first hotdog. He only just now realized that his gloves were probably _full_ of bacteria from everywhere he'd been crawling. (Ick.) He hadn't realized just how hungry he'd been -- he was _definitely_ going to get more than one ice cream.

"I think I could eat another ten of those," he said when he caught up and fell into stride next to Deadpool -- and he meant it. He tugged his mask back down, wiping the crumbs and streak of mustard away with the back of his hand as he did.

People probably thought that they were just two people dressed up, and some intense nerds were probably wondering if there was a convention somewhere. I mean, who ever thought they'd see Spider-Man (two Spider-Mans? Spider-Men?) _walking_?  The guy could easily web his way around the city!

Wade chuckled, giving Spider-Man a somewhat tense grin through the fabric. The kid ate faster than most people, including him, and that was honestly just really fucking impressive. "If you're still hungry, by all means, we can order more food, kid. I'm not gonna let my favorite superhero starve to death."

Spider-Man felt bad for Deadpool paying for him -- even though it meant that he actually was getting more than he'd be able to buy on his own. By all means, he should be taking all he could get, and then some. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I was always told that I have hollow legs," he said. Granted, his aunt only started telling him this after his metabolism quickly outgrew him, thanks to a certain spider bite. "I've gotta put all that food somewhere."

The area was starting to fill with quite a few more people, since it was the dinner rush and about the time most office jobs let out. So many people crowding around them made Wade feel on edge. For someone who absolutely loved big cities, Deadpool wasn't exactly a fan of large crowds. The all-encompassing feeling of being caged in was starting to get to Spider-Man, as well. Too many people -- he'd been shoved past more times by strangers just now than he had by bad guys this whole _week_. He felt incredibly naked in just his suit around all of these people.

"Hey, Deadpool," he started, and then rubbed the back of his neck. "Wanna take the Spidey Express again? I think there'd be less foot traffic."

"God yes." Deadpool was far too relieved to hear the other man's suggestion that he didn't even try to make a sexual innuendo out of it. He made sure to try keep his movements calm and gentle, climbing onto Spider-Man's back with the grace only a trained assassin could possess. He locked his legs a round the man's lithe frame, and his forehead lightly rested on the blue and red shoulder in front of him. Wade _really_ hated crowds.

Part of Spider-Man was surprised at how Deadpool reacted to that -- the apparent dislike of being in an overstuffed city during the rush hour, and no wise cracks or innuendos. It seemed that the mercenary just wanted to get out of here, far away from the people. Spider-Man felt the way Deadpool pressed his head against his own back, and he once again felt bad for the man (and a little afraid for the civilians). He wondered briefly if it was hard to distinguish the voices in his head from the ones outside of it.

Spider-Man noticed a few odd looks from the people immediately walking past them; looks gotten for a fully grown man in costume getting a piggyback ride from another fully-grown man in a costume. That turned into people shouting, startled, when this Spider-Man turned out to be the _actual_ Spider-Man and started scrambling up a nearby wall.  He avoided an overhanging fabric roof over the doorway of the restaurant he was climbing. Before they started off on their excursion to any nearby parks, he crouched on the rooftop and glanced back, accidentally brushing Deadpool's head with his nose.

"You alright?" he asked softly, wanting to make sure there wasn't anything else he could do, or if Deadpool was even up for anymore walking around.

Wade swallowed thickly, a cold chill wracking his frame. This had to be the most intimate he had been with anyone in years, and it was quite literally an accidental movement brought on by _pity_. He chewed at his bottom lip before nodding. He kept his head down, pressed to the hero's shoulder. "Yeah, I'm fine. It just... I dunno. It's real dumb to have anxiety from crowds when you're squatting in New York City, huh? That's kinda like being scared of water but livin' on a house boat."

Spider-Man rotated his shoulder lightly, fighting the urge to squirm away from the touch.  He tried to keep his movements slow enough to not slam his shoulder into Deadpool's eye sockets. It _was_ a bit ironic, but it wasn't like people could help being freaked out by certain things, or having anxiety in general. He sure had a lot of that in high school, and he _still_ had it without the safety of his costume. It was easy to take on a new persona when he wasn't dressed as nerdy ol' Peter Parker. Meanwhile, Deadpool decided to do what he did best when he didn't get any kind of verbal response for that: annoy said Spider-Man. "Well, what are ya waitin' for, Spider-butt? If you're wantin' that sweet an' decadent Gelato an' ice cream all up in your face, I suggest we get there before they sell out. I mean, spoonin' with ya on a rooftop is easily one of the better fanfic tropes that I like, but I ain't too sure you swing on a _pendulum_ , if you catch my drift."

Spider-Man suddenly made the connection while thinking about personas. _This_ was part of the other man's show. Deadpool felt safer behind his mask, too.

That didn't mean he wasn't still a pain in the backside, though. "This isn't 'spooning'," he informed. "I'm pretty sure you have to be lying down for it to count." ...And he _did_ catch that drift. "You _would_ read fanfiction," he said, completely side-stepping that other topic.

"Yeah, you're probably right, but 'spooning' sounded a lot nicer than 'riding' right before mentioning fanfiction. I prefer bein' the little spoon, anyhow."

Spider-Man jumped off the roof into a nosedive instead of saying anything to that and started swinging.  He could see the cluster of trees from where they were, so he knew where to head towards.

Deadpool almost squeaked as he watched the ground get closer to his face. He trusted Spider-Man, but holy _fuck_ , didn't the guy think he was cutting it a little close?! _Deadpool_ could bounce back from that kind of fall. The human spider could not!

The close-call was what Spider-Man considered payback for the words the other was purposefully choosing to describe their current position, and for the TMI on Deadpool's bedroom preferences. He wasn't sure at this point if the guy was just joking or if he were actually, really, honestly hitting on him. Half of the time, the comments sounded like a punchline. It could honestly go either way (like Deadpool might) -- he'd thought for a long time now that the Merc was just saying that stuff to make him uncomfortable.

He was beginning to suspect that Deadpool really was hitting on him.

They touched down at the edge of the closest park and Deadpool gave a sigh of relief, and he fought off the remaining nausea to keep the cabbage cake down. He climbed off of Spider-Man, wiping his hands on the front of his suit completely out of habit. Looking around, he saw that it was _far_ less crowded. The older man was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in no time. Ice cream was basically ambrosia.

Spider-Man took his new-found freedom from the mercenary's hold to roll his shoulders and pop his neck. His muscles were getting tired faster than they should the longer he was awake. It was now a toss-up on whether he was more hungry than he was ready to sleep, or vice versa.

 


End file.
